


The Tale of the Black-thorn Witch

by morgan_stranger



Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9870266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan_stranger/pseuds/morgan_stranger
Summary: She's not a witch. She doesn't deserve to be called that. But Anadil of Bloodbrook would do all that she can to redeem herself and return to the world she once left. But is the price of her redemption worth it? Is being a witch what she really wanted?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> To be honest this will be the third time I will post this story. I have made a lot of revisions for this one only because I thought that it deserved the revisions. This time I will try my best to finish this story, but I cannot promise that I will post a new chapter on a regular basis because my work doesn't always allow me the time to write. Anyway, I do hope that you will enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing in.
> 
> PS. I will also post Chapter 1 along with this prologue. So knock yourself out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> To be honest this will be the third time I will post this story. I have made a lot of revisions for this one only because I thought that it deserved the revisions. This time I will try my best to finish this story, but I cannot promise that I will post a new chapter on a regular basis because my work doesn't always allow me the time to write. Anyway, I do hope that you will enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing in.
> 
> PS. I will also post Chapters 1 and 2 along with this prologue. So knock yourself out.

Her favorite part of the day was when she was finally alone in her tower after abandoning it for the whole day. She let herself plummet on her soft bed, greedily absorbing the coolness of her covers to herself before she flicked her glass shoes off her feet. She curled up into a ball and closed her tired eyes, hoping that sleep would come easy tonight. But despite forcing herself to doze off and leave this night for tomorrow, her mind was still rushing about the tasks and errands that she still needed to complete. She tried desperately to shut them all up, vanquishing any rogue thoughts that went flurrying in her head, but it seemed that every thought she had removed was replaced with two different thoughts and she was now stuck in a vicious cycle. She groaned aloud, pressing her eyes shut as her final attempt to get some nice rest for the night, but it was useless. Her sleep left her like a lover in the night, leaving her sprawled over her bed confused and disorientated. At that moment her body finally had room to reveal every discomfort that she had - her aching feet from her growingly uncomfortable glass shoes, the itchy rash growing on her wrist and her stomach that was growling so loudly and intensely that she was sure she can make out some words from it. Her hand automatically moved to her belly, as if containing the beast rampaging inside. She then realized that she had not eaten anything since last night. She started to regret being the Schoolmaster.

“This is definitely not good for my figure.” She sighed, dreaming of crispy bacon strips, sunny side up eggs, and English muffins with a side of orange marmalade. It won’t just ruin her hips, but it will be extremely delicious. But at this point, if the food won’t make her look ugly, the stress will make her look like a witch.

But as if on cue she heard a voice from below her tower. “Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your hair!”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile that pulled on her lips. But still, she made no effort to get up. Her bed was far more comfortable than laying eyes on that boy.

“Rapunzel?” He called out again. “Are you there? Please, let me in, it’s freezing out here!”

The Schoolmaster blew air out of her nose as she pulled herself out of her bed, trudged across the cold stone floor with her bare feet and slammed her hands on the stone windows style. “Call me  _ Rapunzel _ one more time and I will turn you into a newt!” She hissed pointing her glowing finger at the bulky silhouette at the feet of her doorless tower ready to cast the spell.

“Alright, alright!” Said the voice from below. “I’ll stop, Sophie. Just let me in.” 

“Why would I let you in, Hort?” She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Uhm… because…?” He shrugged, but Sophie was sure she could see a smile somewhere down there.

She groaned out loud, making sure that he hears her frustration before she flicked her finger upwards.

Without warning, the ground Hort was standing on shoot up so fast that he was forced on his stomach to have his hold body cling on the rising slab or dirt and rock for dear life as he screamed. It abruptly stops in front of the tower’s window, jerking him violently before a small bridge formed for him to cross. He crawled over the small bridge, arms and knees shaking, and finally when he was inside the tower, he collapsed, panting like a dog. “You could have just lifted me!” he yelled.

“Oh, that would be no fun, now, would it? What could make me feel better but a man like you screaming like a little girl? I’m willing to bet that the whole school heard you.

“You’re evil. Absolutely evil. Why are you guarding the--” In a split second he was on his feet, and his mouth pressed to hers, silencing him completely. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his chest heave and muscles tense before she pulled herself off him. “Because of that.” She said with an almost playful tone on her voice. 

She tugged him across the room until they both landed on her bed with his arm underneath her. Sophie looked at him coyly before rolling to her side and closed her eye. A part of her wanted to salvage whatever sleep she could get, but the other part wanted something else. Hort held her close with his large arms while he pecked her on her neck and jaw, the little stubbles of his beard tickling her slightly, but it soothed her, making her tense muscles relax and her turbulent mind was silenced. Eventually, she felt an uncontrollable shaky breath escaped her mouth and she bit her lip, enjoying every single moment of this. She moved closer and closer until her back was straining against him. Then Hort moved away. She took this as an opportunity to pull her golden hair to the side to reveal her flawless back. She wanted him to do more.

But Hort didn’t continue. 

_ What’s that dumb boy doing now? _ She thought, turning towards him only to see him snoring, arms spread widely across the bed. 

“Seriously?” Annoyance now grows inside her that made her grind her teeth. Well, maybe it was far better having a pet newt to replace him. 

She shook her head before her finger lit up a hot pink. She waved it on the floor and conjured something to eat. Eventually, a porcelain plate took shape and the room started to fill with its glorious smell. It was a plate of hot bacon strips, sunny side up eggs, English Muffin and orange marmalade spread, just like the ones in her dreams. She picked it up angrily, folded her legs on her bed then she shoved a bacon in her mouth. “See this?” She wagged the piece of crispy pork belly at Hort’s sleeping face. “This is all on you, buddy! All on you!” She then gorged down on her food, like a testosterone filled barbarian.

In less than ten minutes the plate was empty and her fingers were dripping with the juicy pork grease. Sophie was now hating herself. Maybe she will turn herself into a newt now? 

But despite Hort’s roaring snores, she heard it, the rasping of leaves from across the room which was immediately followed by the Storian shooting out from its perch on its black and white marble desk. The golden quill hovered in front of the rows of leather-bound books of the bookshelf until finally, it stopped, jittering like a coffee-filled toddler. The Schoolmaster eyed the Storian for a while, wondering what it will do next until she realized that it was waiting for her. Sophie quickly jumped to her feet and grabbed the ladder and rolled it to where the Storian hovered. She stormed up the steps and watched as she pointed to each book in front of it. “Is it this one?” She asked, but the Storian remained still. “This one? Or this one?” Her finger finally pointed on something and the Storian shivered almost violently. Sophie looked to see a small brown book and tried to pry it off from being wedged in between larger books. “Why do you want this?” She asked with effort, not even caring if it waked the sleeping man on her bed. Soon the book was free and she carried it down the ladder, flipping through its empty pages. “What do you want with this?” She asked. “It’s too small for a fairytale, and it’s too early for you to be writing something, right?” But the Storian just zoomed impatiently to its desk, motioning her to hurry up. “Okay, okay. For a lifeless quill, you’re very impatient.” She set the brown leather book on the desk and moved away but not before getting a little prick from its needle sharp point. “ _ Ouch! _ ”

The Storian opened the softcover of the book and wrote the title with elegant penmanship _ The Tale of the Black Thorn Witch _ before flipping a few flyleaves. It then started painting. Sophie watched patiently as the picture slowly came to life -- it was dark, almost gritty, maybe it was evening? But there were tall trees and heavy rain. There was something in the middle of the forest like a large beast hidden in the shadows with parts of it lit up by lightning before it was a man with his hand held up as a final attempt to protect himself. But in the foreground was a woman dressed in nifty brown leather boots and thick gray hunting jacket, her skin was as pale as a ghost but there was nothing more to indicate on who she was except for three large rats looking ferocious and snarling at the giant beast ahead of them.

But suddenly it all came together and she couldn’t help but feel a swelling gladness in her heart. “After all these years…” She whispered with glee.

She knew exactly who it was.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The rain was violent. It beats on the ground with a heavy force like a sacrificial drum demanding blood at the altar for it to be appeased. But Anadil knew that it wasn’t a metaphor, because tonight blood was about to be spilled, and she will be there to watch.

She can feel each droplet hammer on her head, even with her thick leather hood on. The chilling cold of the midnight weather was beginning to seep through her clothes and bite on her skin; her fingers were starting to lock as frozen air hurts her throat, but she wasn’t about to give this one up. She’s been hunting the trent for far too long, and now she has the chance she has been waiting for. Scruff galloped faster than a horse, skillfully dodging the large trees and rocks that dotted the path they were in while Scrawn and Blot followed closely behind. It was a special hunting night, and Anadil had turned three of her rats into something twice the size of a cave bear. They will need the size for the coming battle.

“Stop!” She commanded Scruff and the giant rat skidded into a halt. As carefully, but quickly, as she can, she walked up against her rat’s neck and planted her feet firmly at the top of his head. “Raise me up,” She said, and the rat stood on his hind legs, carefully balancing his master.

Anadil closed her eyes and sniffed the air. She deftly pushed back the thick scent of pine, muck and rotting wood aside to find something faint but awfully familiar. It was coming from the east, a musky irony scent that seemed to collect at the back of her nose before falling heavily in her lungs. In fact, she didn’t need to concentrate for a long time to see notice the iconic scent. The air was almost full of it, which signified something was wrong. 

“We need to hurry,” She said, almost to herself as she jumped from the head of the giant rat and landing seated at the based of the rat’s neck. Scruff gave a roar before he started running again, with his brothers close behind, following the scent that filled the night air.

It didn’t take long, and Anadil knew that they were close. But as she had thought, something was wrong. She can hear the beast roaring in pure curdling rage. Someone else had found it. She didn’t like competition, and quite possibly, she will have to kill the intruder. Maybe it was the chance that she had been praying for.

The beast and the thieves were in a clearing, and Anadil jumped off her rat, pointing at the places where Scrawn and Blot could lie and hide and wait for the attack. Still hidden in the tree lines, she unbuckled a spear tipped with the blade of a Camelot straight dagger, wrapped and bound with a black-tipped thorny vine. No matter what happened, she will get the heart of the beast. Breathing deeply, she tried to prepare herself, calming the small shivers that her knees and hands made. She pushed a stray branch aside, to see and assess the situation, hopefully, she can find a flaw in the thieves’  formation so she and her rats can bring all of them down without much trouble. But there wasn’t any thieving witch or alchemists in the scene, but there was only a man, fending the beast off by himself. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out any sigil marking the man, but there was nothing on his leather armor.  That man just got her curiosity and interest. How could he have survived that long alone?

The trent roared with something that sounded like the mixture of the squeal of dying pig and a ferocious lion, drumming its chest to show dominance, but the man only responded with a draw of his single-headed battle ax from his back. The beast eyed the weapon that started to glow a cobalt blue light. It drummed on its massive chest once more, with its core glowing a magnificent red that shone on every crevice of its twisting wood-like frame, then it charged. 

The man didn’t take a second to delay and he threw his ax with both hands before jumping out the way, missing its target.  _ Pathetic, _ Anadil sneered. The beast skidded across the muddy ground as it tried to keep its eye on its prey. Once locked on it began to charge again. But just as it did, the ax’s head buried itself deep in the trent’s right set of eyes. The beast squealed in pain as it tried to pull the ax off. The man now took the opportunity and charged at the beast, holding his glowing palm in the air and the ax followed, pulling the beast’s head to the ground. He jumped and boarded the trent’s head before he pulled the ax out of the monster’s eyes. 

It screamed so loud that the very earth Anadil stood on shook, but she had an unwanted smile on her face because she found the whole act fascinating. But she held her spear tightly in her hand and she was ready to throw it at him at the right moment. But for the mean time, she just watched.

The man jeered at the downed beast, muttering something that Anadil couldn’t and didn’t want to hear. She was sure that this man will die. He was cocky and arrogant. She has seen it before. As his small speech had finally ended, the man raised his ax and it glowed brighter as it came crashing down the trent’s head, delivering the final blow. But it never landed. The beast shook him off like a dog would with a flea, only this flea was slower and dumber. He landed on his back and the beast threw his ax away. The man ran for his life, while he held his hand in the air, waiting for his weapon to land on his hand, but for the second time that evening, the ax failed. The trent swatted the man like a bug with its massive fist sending him flying into a nearby tree. He hit hard, and Anadil heard his bones break before his limp body rolled down to the wet ground. But he was still alive. He tried to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood saturating in the mud. The trent stood behind him, its hulking body heaving heavily, eyes wounded but otherwise victorious. It breathed in then it roared at the dying man while is stomped its fist in the ground.

Now was her chance. It was blinded and in pain. She wolf-whistled and the rats charged in with Scruff leading the attack. The trent was stunned, as its enemies came from three sides. It tried to defend itself but it was no use. The rats had iron-like claws and razor sharp fangs and they tore at the beast without much of a fight bringing it to the ground. Once the rats have secured the bleeding beast, Anadil came out of her hiding place, spear in hand. She wasted no time. She drove the blade deep into the beast’s head, hearing its last whimper before she twisted the spear and it died.

“Alright,” she puffed, pulling the spear out of the corpse of the monster. “Do your job.”

The rats turned the monster on its back and started digging into its chest, breaking away the twisting trunks and vines that sheltered its heart.  Anadil was finally happy, feeling that the weight of all the waiting, misfortunes and failures were not wasted at all. For the first time, she felt herself breathe and she was finally relaxed.

But Aya squeaked from the pocket of her jacket, and the head of a small white rat peeped out, sniffing the air. “Too late, girl. You missed out on all the fun.” She pets her rat’s head with her finger, but it didn’t seem to be interested with the trent.

Aya jumped out of the pocket and shuffled carefully towards the man. 

“Leave him, Aya,” Anadil commanded,  but Aya wasn’t one to listen to her.

The rat shuffled closer and closer and eventually, she reached the man’s face and sniffed it before it squeaked at Anadil.

“What?” She raised a brow at her rat with her arms crossed on her chest. “Of course he’s dying. He’s an idiot.”

Aya squeaked in reply.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble that would be? Especially for me? No! You’re a rat. You don’t know anything.”

The white rat berated her master with a succession of angry chattering. It was so loud that it even distracted her brothers from working.

“I will not waste my potions on that man, Aya. He’s dying. He won’t make it… Of course, I’m sure! Look at him! You’re standing right in front of him… No. You cannot tell me what to do! I won’t help him even if you tell everything to Corrine. The both of you can go suck on a lemon!”

Anadil eyed the rat and Ada eye here master. Neither moved nor budged, and the three older rats exchanged glances, feeling the tension growing.

“Scruff!” her brow twitched.  “Pick the poor sap up and take it home.”

The large black rat looked at her confused, sniffing in the air as if the answer was there. He gave a tiny squeak that didn’t fit at all to its massive size.

“No, not your sister! That damn fool dying on the ground!”

Scruff just stared.

“NO! It’s not a sarcasm! Go pick it up!”

The rat quickly left the trent’s corpse and rushed to pick the man as gently as it could before starting to make its way back home, but not before picking up its discolored sister along with him.

Needless to say, Anadil lost to a rat. 

She tapped her finger angrily on her arm as she watched her minions make their way home, not because she took orders from a rat, but because she just gave up another opportunity to redeem herself.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

She hardly slept for the past three weeks, but it’s been worse recently. She didn’t have normal dreams anymore, rather she had haunting representations of all her fatigue, frustrations, anger and self-pity as a swirling mass of colors that did nothing but make her feel more exhausted. For these past few days, sleep was useless.

Maybe she had Aya and that pesky squatting fairy  Corriane to thank for this misfortune because though she finally got the heart of a trent that she’s been after for years, her rat and the fairy teamed up to bug her into saving a man. Yes, the man who was stupid enough to go toe-to-toe against a trent: a ferocious beast made of living wood born to kill and nothing else.  Anadil was positive that the man was going to die and she didn’t want a bloody corpse in her living room. But they left her with no choice. On the night that Scrawn and Aya brought the man to her home, Corriane took it upon herself to clean and bind the man’s wounds. Not bad. Quick thinking. She also went out of her way to ransack Anadil’s supply for ingredients for a healing potion. By the time White Witch got home with the trent’s heart, Corriane was panicking, running around like a child who accidentally burned the stove (which she actually did burn) while she mumbled prayers in her tongue calling to her gods to save the man’s life. _ Pathetic _ . Anadil had to step up just to save her home from being torched down and her ingredients from being put to waste. She was forced to save the man herself. And now here she was, tormented by shallow sleep and rainbow-colored nightmares. What could be worse?

But on that night, Corriane crept into the witch’s room, her feet gliding silently across the wooden floorboards before she propped herself beside Anadil’s bed, her face close to hers.

Perhaps one thing that Anadil admired from the fairy, or hated depending on her mood, other than her refreshingly sweet smile was her eyes. It was a semblance of a clear night sky - her eyes were almost pitch black, with tiny specks of white that seem to shimmer in dim light while her pale white pupils reflect light magnificently even from the tiniest gleam of light. This was exactly what she saw when she opened her eyes, two moons, and countless stars peering down on her.

“What?” The witch sneered, irritated by the fact that she was woken by the sound of her breathing. 

“Uhm,” Corriane started, there was a smile growing on her face, the same smile the witch despised and adored. “It’s the man.”

Anadil’s eyes shot open as she quickly tried to get up. He must be bleeding again, or having a seizure. Damn it, that man was going to start dying again!

_ But wait, since when did I care? _

“Woah, woah-woah! Slow down.” Corriane held her down, preventing her from moving an inch more. It was strange how strong she was despite her size because Anadil literally couldn’t move in her hands. “He’s fine. The man’s fine. I just wanted to let you know that he’s awake.”

“He is?” She cleared her throat because she was sounding more hopeful than she preferred. “He _ is _ ?” That’s it. Stiff, stern and condescending.  _ Perfect _ .

“Yep. He’s slowly becoming better, thanks to you.” Anadil looked away with shame, and Corianne noticed it, not wanting to press on that nail any further. “anyway. I just wanted you to know. Don’t worry, you can sleep easy tonight. I got him. I know what he needs.” Her hand pats the witch’s lap.

“As if sleep is that easy.” She confessed.

“I know.” The fairy nodded. “So here’s for your good work.” She held out her hand a large flower with scarlet petals bloomed on her wrist. She picked it up and placed it on Anadil’s nightstand and immediately filled the room with a soothing scent that smelled of blended spice and honey. “It’s amazing how death can lead to something beautiful.” Corianne chirped before she laid the sleepy witch’s head on her pillow. “This will take away your bad dreams,” She finally said and it was the last thing that Anadil heard.

 

It was almost magical how light she felt. She welcomed the picturesque dream that danced with her through her sleep. It never left her, that is until she could see the light seeping into her eyes, cutting her off from everything she loved about her sleep and no matter what she did; no matter how she tossed herself around her bed to be comfortable, she couldn’t hold onto to it and the splendid visions vanished at the back of her mind.

Anadil lay awake on her bed, staring at the ceiling and wondered if she will ever sleep like that again. But pretty soon the realities of the day came rushing into her mind  -- the animals that she had to feed, the garden that she had to water, and that bonsai tree that she was supposed to prune a week ago has been delayed long enough. But there was something else that teetered at the edge of her thoughts, something fading, yet important; something about…

_ The man _ !  She sprang out of her bed and she raced towards the door, her legs still wobbly from the sleep, and her head felt like it was drained of blood. But just before she exited the room, she was stopped by Corriane.

“Hang on, Anadil!” The fairy giggled, pushing the witch back with one hand and seating her on a chair. “Wash up first.” She shoved a large wooden bowl into Anadil’s arms before filling it with warm water with a wave of her hand.

Anadil cocked a brow lifting her eyes from the bowl to the fairy. “ Wash up? You never asked me to wash up before.”

“Yeah, well, we have a guest, and it’s only decent.”

“I’m a witch. Witches don’t ‘wash up.’”

“And witches don’t exfoliate their skins either.”  She crossed her arms claiming victory.

Anadil rolled her eyes as she sighed but placed the bowl on the table. “I still don’t see why this is necessary.”

“Just do it, Annie. You don’t want him to see you with your morning face.”

“Why would I care if he sees me like this?”

“Because he’s hot!” Corriane bit her lip, twisting herself like a lovestruck teenager.”

“You’re pathetic,” Anadil said as she washed her face in the bowl. The water was perfectly warm and it was scented with pine and maple, and as much as she would hate to admit it, she would prefer to drown in that water.

“Yeah, that makes the two of us.” She handed the witch a towel and watched as she patted herself dry.

“There,” Anadil presented herself when she was done. “Happy now?”

But the fairy scrunched up her face, shaking her head slightly before she finally gave up. “Meh, that’s good enough.” She smiled, picking up the bowl into her arms before emptying it out the window and leaving the room, leaning forward expectantly with extra spring on her steps.

Anadil rolled her eyes, exasperated, but relieved that she was finally free to leave her room, though not before tying her hair unconsciously into a bun.

Corriane sat on the coffee table, giving the man his hourly dose of healing draught with a wooden spoon. Anadil knew what it was:  _ Paglunias _ potion, and she can smell the dreadful thing in the kitchen, but she pretended that she didn’t see them and proceeded to grab herself a cup of Rickberry tea.

“Good morning,” the man greeted, his voice was low and gruff, but he was making an effort to make it sound lively.

Anadil did not respond. Instead, she drained her hot tea in one go before pouring herself another one.

The man coughed, looking at the fairy but the fairy only shrugged. “Uhm, hi?” He greeted once more, louder.

“I heard you the first time.” She said sternly without looking at the man, draining her third cup of tea. 

“Oh, I, uh… just wanted to thank you, I guess.”

“Don’t thank me.” Her tone was monotonous but also sarcastic. “Thank the rat and the fairy. I only did my part because they were burning my house down.”

“Hey!” Corriane stomped her foot in protest. “I wasn’t going to burn down your house.”

The witch’s brow cocked. “The stove was ablaze,” she said flippantly while gesturing vaguely to the stove.

“Oh,” She paused. “Yeah, that one. Right.” She trailed off, cheeks burning.

“Excuse me,” the man chimed in. “What rat?”

“That rat.” Anadil and Corianne pointed at Aya at the same time, who was perched on the crest of the sofa, watching all of them with her beady red eyes.

“Her?” He asked, confused.

Corriane nodded as she stood from her seat, placing a hand on the man’s head seemingly checking his temperature, but it was probably an excuse to touch his skin. Her girly giggles gave it away.

The man nodded at the rat with a warm smile on his face and it seemed as if the rat nodded in return. “My name is Crain,” He finally introduced himself, attempting to push himself from the couch but the stabbing pain of his wounds prevented him. “Crain Black from the Saltstone Isles.” 

“Saltstone what now?” Corriane’s moon-eyes shined at him. “Where’s that?”

“Far off the continent.” He chuckled.

“What continent? What are you talking about?”

“It means he’s not from the Endless Woods.” Anadil placed her now-empty mug on the sink. This _ Crain _ did catch her attention.

“Right. Anyway. I’m a… _ historian _  of some sort.”

“What do you mean historian?” the fairy moved closer to the man.

“I write the stories of everything; people, heroes, villains. Heck! Even trees!”

“Trees have stories?”

“They do.” He nodded before he realized something important. “Speaking of which, have you seen my book? It was inside my backpack during the attack of the trent.”

“Oh! I got it!” Corriane jumped and rushed into Anadil’s room.

“Hey! Get out of there!” Anadil screams, but it was too late, the fairy could not be stopped and she soon appeared with a large hard leather bound book which she pulled from the fairy’s hands.

Anadil didn’t have the time to take a peek at the book. Once upon a time, she promised herself that she would examine it, but the same reason for her sleepless nights prevented her from doing so. But the book was different(i) than any other book she had seen. The leather seemed too rough as if the skin were not from something common. The covers were embellished with scribbles of lines that formed in a way that it seemed like inscriptions for seals, and on the edge was a small brass lock that didn’t have a keyhole. But in the center of the book was a shining black crest with spires forming like a crown hovering over an orb.  Instinctively, she touched it, feeling the cold polished stones on her skin, noticing the stark contrast of her skin against it. For the white witch,  it was beautiful.

“That’s the Enchiridion Black.” Crain held out his hand for it and Anadil passed it to him, though somewhat reluctantly. “It’s been passed down for generations. Except for three hundred years ago. It was stolen and was kept in a vault. Wars have been waged for it.”

Corriane and even Anadil looked at him expectantly. An enchiridion was a rare thing to find in the Endless Woods, and even then it just mostly contained ancient potion recipes and old dysfunctional spells. But both of them knew that the book before them now was somewhat different.

And as if he could read their minds, Crain hovered his glowing hand over the lock and it flipped open with a snappy  _ click _ . Opening it he revealed hundreds of empty pages.

“What gives?” Corriane propped her hands on her hip. “It’s empty.”

“Of course it is! How else can I write something in this thing if it’s full?”

“You said wars had been waged for that book.” Anadil looked at the book closer, her eyes shimmering with wonder despite herself. “They waged a war just so they can write your book?”

“No. No one can write on this book except those who has the blood of Morgan Black. Like me. But anyone can read it, and what you can read is almost limitless.”

“How?” Corriane asked.

The man smiled at her. “Just ask.”

The fairy tapped her finger on her chin, thinking of a way to challenge the book. “Alright, I have something for it. Book, show me  _ Marak’larste _ .”

The book flipped through the pages in a loud, crisp rustlings. The leaves were flying so fast that they gently blew on Crain’s face. Eventually, it stopped, revealing a smooth sketching of a large tree that towered above the trees surrounding it. Beside the portrait was a script written in a language that neither Anadil and Corriane could understand. But for the fairy, it didn’t matter. All she wanted was to see her mother-tree once more and it made her face feel prickly and her eyes sting.

“Okay, I’m good. I’m... convinced.” She said, closing the book while she wiped her eyes on her wrist, sniffling like a child. “I can see why people would kill for that.”

Crain tapped the book’s cover twice, smiling, though Anadil didn’t understand why. He’s peculiar. He’s in pain and he’s smiling? But there was something else on her mind. This man has something far dangerous in his hands. Knowledge is known to corrupt, but it also gives power. Her guess was that it didn’t just contain the stories of people and trees as that man cleverly suggested, but also a means for her to end her curse and regain her former self. Maybe deep inside that book was a way for her to become what she wants to be. A villain.

But she wouldn’t dare ask him for help. She would have to get it from him, somehow.

“I never got your names.” Crain smiled at the women giving them each a turn under his glance. 

“Oh look at me. A moment ago I was telling Annie to be decent, but now I’m here being indecent.” She laughed. “My name is Corriane, and this grumpy fella right here is Anadil.”

“Anadil,” Crain stroked his beard. “I’ve heard of that name before.”

Anadil’s eyes widened, and there was a tinge of hope in them.  But that hope disappeared when she realized the one thing she was famous for. She shook the thought off her head, hating herself for remembering them.

“Anadil of Bloodbrook!” Crain exclaimed. “You were at the School of Good and Evil. You were in the  _ Tale of Agatha and Sophie _ !”

“Hah!” Corriane jeered. “Anadil was on a book? _ Pffft. _ ” She blew a raspberry.

“She was. And she’s not forgotten. When I left the inner circle of the Endless Woods, there were talks of Queen Arinarra looking for you.”

“Queen Arinarra?” Anadil cocked a brow at the man.

“Or was it Arianne? Antoinette? Amanda?” He scratched his head while he tapped on his book. “But that’s her facade. I think. You know her as Hester. Or rather Queen Hester.”

“HESTER’S A QUEEN!?” 

“Queen of Amdula, a city inside of a volcano. Typical villain, right there.”

“What happened? How? When?” Words came shooting out of her mouth before she can even process them. But she didn’t care. It was Hester! “Tell me!”

“Okay, okay.” Crain gulped opening the book and muttering something under his breath. 

The book’s leaves flew again until it stopped showing a portrait of a woman wearing a sleek pointy crown with the sides running down the length of her face ending just above the chin. She still looked a lot like when she was in the School, except slightly more mature and less rebellious. The piercings on her nose and ears were gone but the red highlight on her bangs was still there. The title reads ‘ _ Queen Hester of Amdula, Murderer of the Old Monarch and the Lord of the Jagged Cliffs. _ ’

Anadil grabbed the book from the injured man and held it in her arms. “Dot!”

The book flipped again to show the picture of a chubby woman wearing a pink and white bowtie, a purple coat and a beige top hat. ‘ _ Dot the Beheader, Chocolatier of Nottingham _ .’

“Agatha!” The witch commanded and the book followed showing the portrait of a woman with jet black hair that was no longer oily and tousled, but smooth and silky standing next to a gorgeous man with a golden beard and a young girl with thick golden hair. ‘ _ Agatha the Just, Queen of Camelot _ .’

“SOPHIE!!” The booked showed her a young woman with perfect hair tied into a bun, behind her was the iconic silver quill. ‘ _ Sophie the Unbound, Schoolmaster of the School of Good and Evil _ .’

Crain and Corriane looked at the white witch as her breathing became deeper and deeper. A few times Corriane tried to pry the book off her but she almost bit her hand off. The man and the fairy exchanged worried glances. They knew that what she was doing wasn’t healthy. She wasn’t looking at her friends to see how they were doing, she was looking at them because it was killing her inside.

But Anadil wasn’t finished. She had one last name to look for, and in a low, small voice she whispered “Anadil of Bloodbrook.”

The book flipped and flipped, blowing a soft breeze to the witch’s face but it never stopped. But when it finally did, it was only to close the book, ending its search and leaving the witch paler than normal. She eyed the man with rage, her red eyes boiling. She slammed the book on the coffee table and stormed into her room. 

The door slammed.

Anadil Vanished.

 


End file.
